


Life is nothing much to lose

by id_ten_it



Category: Biggles Series - W. E. Johns
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Historical References, Introspection, M/M, Quotations, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-11 10:59:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13522851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/id_ten_it/pseuds/id_ten_it
Summary: Biggles has been tapped on the shoulder for a solo campaign during World War Two. James can't live with leaving Algy alone in the middle of a war, but he can't live with abandoning his country during a time of need."Life, to be sure, is nothing much to lose;But young men think it is, and we were young." - A. E. Houseman





	1. The saviours come not home tonight

**Author's Note:**

> "To skies that knit their heartstrings right,  
>  To fields that bred them brave,  
> The saviours come not home tonight:  
>  Themselves they could not save"
> 
> A Shropshire lad – 1887
> 
>  
> 
> This fic is full of introspection. It got a second chapter because there's only so much nagging from Biggles and Algy that one can stand, I find.

“Algy, I…” Biggles swallowed, shook his head, sat down, stood up again and finally settled awkwardly near the desk, hands held carefully by his sides.  
Flight Lieutenant Lacey surveyed him coolly, one eyebrow raised in perfect imitation of Biggles’ own well- known look. His voice was flat and impeccably even. “You are in need of something, Sir?” Despite the honorific, Algy didn’t bother standing or otherwise acknowledging Biggles’ higher rank.  
James couldn’t blame him. Algy always had been the bigger man, the better gentleman. He bit a lip, more nervous than any mere battle with the enemy made him. His voice wasn’t trembling, he didn’t think. He hoped it wasn’t. “They’ve sent me… away. I don’t know how long for, or what, precisely, I’m supposed to be doing.”  
Algy’s eyes remained professionally cool and appraising, but James knew better. Algy was a soldier just like himself.  
“Away, that’s all you can say?”  
“Away. That’s all I know. I’ll…” it was unnerving, baring your heart to such an unmoving spectacle, “I’ll write, of course, but I can’t promise….” the sigh started at his boot- soles, “anything, Algy. I wish I could.”  
Algy shrugged slightly, “well, such is life and war, I suppose.” With a steady hand, he pushed away the paper he had been writing on. From where James was standing he could see it was an all- too- standard death notice. All- too- standard except for where Algy had written a paragraph by hand, and signed it. Why on earth’s hadn’t Algy been promoted yet? Secretly, of course, he knew the answer. Because Algy would be wasted higher up. His skill was with men. With people.

The previously calm brown eyes were anything but, now. James perched on the edge of the desk, drawing Algy’s hand into his. In an undertone, accompanying the strokes of his own fingers over much- loved skin, he murmured “A body of England's, breathing English air,/ Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home./ And think, this heart, all evil shed away…”  
Algy slammed upright. Both his hands pressed flat onto his hated desk. “Or, in fact, you could bail out and drown.” He smirked slightly, “which wouldn’t be very helpful for filling up a poor foreign field that never did anything to you, would it?”  
James gulped. The words were only a little cutting, but the tone they were said in made him check that he was still in one piece. His hands were fatalistically empty without Algy’s in them, his feet uncomfortable taking his weight in the sudden leap which had saved him from being squashed under Algy’s impetuous hands. He deserved a lot more (a lot less?) than he was getting for breaking the news. Irony, in its true sense of the word, for he didn’t deserve Algy at all, yet he had him, not the things he did deserve.

“Or, you could get run over by a bus, or a transport – though they seem rather tame this time around I’m sure they’re just as deadly as always – or get chased to death by a woman who wants nothing more than a hand with a map. You could die hilariously, or merely amusingly, but you can’t try and tell me that you won’t die at all!” Algy’s hiss was felt directly where he had aimed it – straight for James’ heart. “So don’t pretty it up with Keats, or Tennyson…” he shot Biggles a dirty look, “or Brooke. You’re going off on a fool’s errand I most likely won’t see you return from, and I’ll only find out when the man placed over me loses his acting command to formally take over the whole sorry lot of us.”

Tentatively, James opened his mouth. Algy ploughed on straight through the admissions James was going to make in his most reasonable voice. “Did you consider, at all, what your disappearance would do to the men? And, if you considered that, did you then go on to consider what that would do to their fellows in other airfields, and from then onwards throughout Britain?” Voice rising, Algy continued, “did you tell me as soon as you knew or would you steal away in silence? Can nothing stop you? Not even the thought of the Squadron doomed without her CO?!” Spent, Algy’s mouth snapped shut, nostrils flaring as he panted. Absently, he dropped into his chair again, James nudging it forwards with his foot so Algy didn’t miss it. So quietly James shouldn’t have heard it, Algy added, “did you consider what it would do to me?” James didn’t hear Algy asking why he had nothing to draw James back with. Algy’s voice was stuck in his throat.  
To that, James had no answer.

He had considered Algy. There was no denying the fact that, even before the first leap of adrenaline and resignation combined had surged through him, a shot of pure fear had raced through his veins at the thought of how Algy would react. Because this would affect him a lot, either way. If James was just away and came back, well, it wouldn’t be as bad as the alternative, but it would still be wearying months of anxiety. They’d been through it once before, in opposing roles, and perhaps James was still recovering but it seemed perfectly reasonable to ask for the same in return for the sake of shortening this current hell. He was in a far better position to do so than Algy had been, thanks to fate. There was no point in fighting fate’s decrees.

Of course there was guilt. Of course, of course, James couldn’t pretend that he’d do otherwise than miss Algy like he’d miss his right hand. But what could he do? He was, first and foremost, a soldier of the air. A soldier, an officer. An officer’s first duty was always to his sovereign, and Algy knew that because Algy was one himself. Algy had been brought up to it. Algy would understand. He’d look down on James if he didn’t go and do the right thing. James would look down on himself if he ignored the right thing, because James had built his life around doing the right thing, no matter how distasteful or unwelcome, because doing the right thing tended to keep him away from reproof, which brought with it its own reward.

If James went away and died, well…what then? Algy…he’d be upset. He would, to steal a phrase, perhaps be devastated. But he’d keep going because that was one thing you could count on Algy to do. No matter what was thrown his way, he’d keep trucking along. In public, he’d grieve as much as he could be expected to at the loss of a long – standing friend and a close commanding officer. He would never put himself in danger by revealing too much to anyone. Naturally, he would have no difficulty in finding someone else to love him; Algy Lacey was the most loveable man in the world. When that day came, James could rest easy, because Algy would be happy with someone who was more deserving and by far more capable of looking after him. Of loving him in a way that James would never be able to. Of the short list of things that James Bigglesworth couldn’t do, loving Algy and keeping him safe, was the one that upset him the most. But trying to convince Algy of that had been a task he just couldn’t manage – a task, if he was honest with himself, that he didn’t particularly want to succeed in.

Algy stopped, but James, supported by the Air Ministry now, his gaze held steady, fought to muster the torment in his heart. At last he ventured a few words. “I…I’m sorry” he tried helplessly, “I don’t know if I can turn it down…” His fingers found another loose thread on his uniform and he attempted to focus on how it had occurred. It didn’t do for the CO to be walking around in a tatty uniform. He really must get it seen to as soon as possible. Algy’s batman had plenty of sewing ability. If Algy didn’t stab him with the needle first.

“If you were that sorry you’d turn it down. If you really cared we wouldn’t even be here, we’d be in some far-flung part of the world that had nothing better for us to do than sip sherry and play darts. We could be in America right now working on a training base you know. Training is every bit as important to the war effort!” Aghast, Algy snatched his brown hands over his face, fingers trembling slightly. Not to be stopped, he added petulantly, “well we could. If we really wanted to.” James wondered if he should pretend not to hear the sniff as he went to lock the office door. He couldn’t ignore the second sniff, going to Algy and standing next to him. “We did talk about it” He reminded Algy, gently. “Look, Algy, if you really really think that we can’t do this then I’ll mount a campaign for someone else to do it. Raymond will just have to lump it.” Biggles tried to catch his eye again, but Algy refused, closing his own resolutely. “Please, let me at least finish this paper work.”  
James paused, irresolute. Algy looked up at him then, a small yet unamused smile loitering upon his lips, “you know what they say about how good things come to men who serve the state. I dare say I shall say yes in the end. But give me some time, for goodness sake.”

James leaned in, dropping a kiss onto Algy’s forehead and gently wiping any signs of manly tears away. Voice no more than a gentle whisper he vowed, “as much time as you need.”


	2. The thing with feathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's favourite daring duo together again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "'Hope' is the thing with feathers—  
> That perches in the soul—  
> And sings the tune without the words—  
> And never stops—at all"
> 
> Emily Dickinson
> 
> The magazine mentioned actually exists - it is 'Poetry, a magazine of verse', the Feb 1943 version. The poem referred to is Edward Weismiller's 'Airplanes, 1938 (sic)' which includes the lines 'they are the cuckoo's young. Separate and grim/ they have left the crucible, and do not at all/ follow the makers' words now, but a hymn/ of ruin: the siren's call'  
> One gets the feeling Weismiller wasn't too overly fond of the whole Aeroplane thing. The magazine is available on that wonderful database JSTOR.

Algy, an older, wiser, less freckled and far less bemused looking Algy, sat at Biggles desk. It was very still. Outside, far above and beyond him to the east, there were aeroplanes ripping through the air, but he could not hear them. Further east, far far further than he could think about in all conscience, there was Biggles. Here, in front of him, was Biggles’ desk and Biggles’ stationery, Biggles’ maps on the walls and Biggles’ books in the book shelf. For some reason he could not fathom, upon the removal of Biggles’ replacement (due medical reasons – two bottles a day and not able to let well enough alone), Algy had been presented with a fatter stripe and the key to Biggles office. He felt like a child trying on his fathers’ shoes and finding they did not fit.

A knock at the door roused him and he smiled as it opened to admit the mail run. “Thank you. Much today?”   
“Not as much as to say so, Sir.” The WAAFI replied, placing the ream of paper on his desk and snapping up a salute. “Anything else, Sir?”  
“No thanks.” Algy returned the salute mechanically, eyes already on the correspondence. There was one that looked quite out of place and Algy placed it on the edge of his desk, regarding it with the sort of wariness usually reserved for large badly wrapped parcels making distressing ticking noises and left next to one’s engine. Mechanically, he dealt with the rest of the correspondence, tilting his head slightly at the sounds of approaching aircraft, counting them back down and relaxing as he saw them all taxi past. None lost today.

Finally, he snatched up the envelope, reading the short note through quickly and then again more slowly. Heaving a deep sigh he placed it down and regarded it with rather more fondness than he had before. Getting up, he walked slowly around the room, before returning and reading the note again.

_‘Just to say work is done. Expect more news soon. Yours - B’_

***

It had been a long few weeks. Biggles felt tired in the way a professional does, when he has strained every nerve and sinew to one end, has neglected food and drink and sleep in favour of attaining his end goal. The goal, though achieved, seems suddenly empty once reached. The ravages of success mean that often upon achieving something such a man feels not so much elation as deflation, not so much excitement and success as the overwhelming urge to walk away and give it all in as a bad job. Biggles, familiar with the sudden depression that such work could bring, reminded himself it was simply a natural reaction to such activities, and penned Algy a short note. The very act of writing to Algy made him feel closer to his best friend, and he lay down to sleep with a slight lessening of the depression he had felt upon returning to the Allied base in Alexandria.

As he had expected, fourteen hours sleep and a good breakfast left him feeling more sanguine. Flat compared to the days before, and sluggish as well, but now also sure that the work was meaningful and done well.

Following a short walk down to the hangars, and a lunch accompanied by some excellent wine, Biggles went into the intelligence room for debriefing. What followed was mostly technical, and served to underline the idea that Biggles had, in fact, been the perfect man for the job. The pilot left the intelligence officer writing up his notes and wondered if it would be very bad to put a call through to Algy. Telling himself it was the height of folly, he firmly directed his steps to the operations office instead.

“Wouldn’t you like to stay here a few days, Sir? See the sights? Perhaps go up the pyramids? Do a dab hand of tours up there, the locals do, and happy to take us with them if you don’t mind a donkey….”  
“No” Biggles said decisively, “I’ll be heading back now.”  
“Well Sir…”  
“Today if there’s a flight.” Biggles added, regarding the Flight Loot with some distaste.  
“Very good Sir. There’s a Lancastrian heading home tonight.”  
Biggles, who had rather hoped for something a little faster and more comfortable, nodded, “I’ll go and pack now.”  
“Yessir. Embarkation is at 1500.”  
“Thanks” Biggles hurried off, packing and doing some quick calculations in his mind as to when he might be allowed to touch Algy again. Not very long now, he reflected as he carefully stowed his shaving kit. Not very long at all. How he hoped the temporary CO wouldn’t kick up a big fuss when Biggles returned.

***

Algy wondered when he would next hear from Biggles. Would he have time to send another letter? Would he make a ‘phone call? On the whole, Algy rather thought not. There was no need to ‘phone, and the idea of Biggles sunning himself somewhere rather than pushing to get back to Blighty was too painful to contemplate. Biggles enjoyed the sun of course – Algy, who freckled easily and always seemed to get burnt in inopportune places, couldn’t understand quite why – but they’d had an agreement. It had only been 36 hours since the note, he reminded himself angrily, and turned back to his work.

It was dark outside when Algy stood and carefully moved everything back into his safe, spinning it off and standing. Fastidious enough to frustrate the most well trained enemy intelligence agent, he checked the room once more before locking it behind him and trudging to the mess. At the door of the block of offices, he paused to put on his hat and hitch a smile to his face, checking himself in the mirror. There was nothing to show, he reminded himself, picking up his shoulders and stalking mess-wards.

***

Biggles bade the driver stop on the other side of the accommodation block to the mess, thanking her and taking his own bags up to his room. Checking his watch he decided that he probably had time for a quick wash and a change of clothes before Algy was due in from dinner. Suiting thought to action, he emerged some time later clean and smelling faintly of shaving soap, dressed in his pyjamas and draped in his robe, slippered feet making little noise on the wooden floors. Unpacked and prepared, he lay on his bed, the door open just enough to see through, and attempted to relax. He would have dearly loved to be waiting in Algy’s room but he had no idea if Algy would return from dinner alone or not. It wouldn’t do for Algy to send someone up to his room to fetch something, and find James on Algy’s bed. So, James waited.

Biggles had spent rather a lot of the previous five weeks waiting, but this spell seemed to be worse than all the others combined. To pass the time, he attempted to read.

_Are you the cuckoo’s young??!_ Someone had written on the front of a most unlikely magazine, _turn the pages to find out!_ Biggles regarded the cover slightly dubiously. Quite why a well-thumbed copy of ‘A Magazine of Verse’ had made its way into his room he was not at all sure. No doubt it came out via an American pilot, and had thence been passed, in the way of all things not nailed down, from person to person until it had fetched up in his room. Perhaps somebody had thought he might like to read something new, or perhaps there had been an inspection while he was away and the more ribald comments across the back of the same magazine had been felt entirely improper for the more polite senior officers to have to stomach, and the magazine had been thrown in the nearest room. Whatever the reason, it was there now. What were the cuckoo’s young? Biggles wondered idly, flicking through the poems.

He was just settling down to re-reading the poem – not at all an appropriate one for a pilot to read – when he heard the front door to their hallway shut, and slow but familiar steps come down towards him. Swiftly, James tossed the magazine aside, going to the door of his room and opening it slightly further. “Algy” he breathed.

Algy looked swiftly around before taking the three steps needed to get into James’ room, shutting the door quickly. “You’re back!” He whispered incredulously, “when did you get back?”  
“About an hour ago. I didn’t want to interrupt anything. How’s Anderson…”  
“Gone. _God_ ” Algy had run his hands over James’ shoulders a couple times and now glanced over to double check the curtains were pulled tightly and the light wasn’t casting any suspicious shadows.   
“I’ve done all of that” James reassured him, sitting on the bed, “look here, I’m not keen to break the mood but a chap needs to know…”  
Algy, already removing his jacket and hanging it on a spare hanger in James’ wardrobe, filled him in, “Two bottles a day and not the sense to keep out of our way. No, don’t get all het up about it, he’s gone off to greener pastures and we’ve been let alone.”  
“Yes but, Algy, who is…”  
“Me” Algy told him shortly, “and while we’ve been muddling along fine, I’ve been looking forward to you coming back I don’t mind telling you.” He was in just his pants now, and came back to the bed to give James an almost shy look. James realised he’d been so busy listening to Algy, _watching_ Algy that he was still sitting in his robe and pyjamas like a fool. Hastily he stood and, in the spirit of fairness, ensured that he was even less clothed than Algy, “Well” he considered, “we can go over all of that in the morning I suppose.” Shivering slightly even though it was rather warm for England, he hastened under the blankets. “I was just thinking that nobody knows you’re here yet.” Algy whispered, “so there’s no need to rush into work in the morning.”   
“Hmmm” James agreed, as Algy snuggled closer, “well we can worry about that then you know.” Algy grunted his agreement, blinking in astonishment and pleasure as his fingers came away rather sticky. “You, err…”  
James rolled over, fixing Algy with a particularly salacious look, “I won’t be sending an engraved invitation” he pointed out, wriggling slightly. Algy laughed.


End file.
